


Afflicted

by IWillBeTheEndofYou



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Fever, Fluff, I got a cavity writing this, Illness, headache, kiss it al better, poison thermometer, sometimes you just feel like death, the author offers no apology, the obligatory sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillBeTheEndofYou/pseuds/IWillBeTheEndofYou
Summary: The obligatory sick!fic.You awaken and feel quite ill. How will each of the brothers try and make it better?
Relationships: Asmodeus/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 508
Collections: Obey Me





	1. I Can Hear You Singing To Me In My Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it.

“I am not sick!” you grumbled as Asmo popped the thermometer in your mouth.

“Of course not, darling. You just look like death warmed over as a fashion statement.” he smirked. You scowled and sneezed, almost dropping the implement. He frowned and set it to the side, handing you a few tissues.

“That does not make me feel pretty.”

“It wasn't meant to.” he sang.

“Were did you even get a thermometer?” you asked as he went to press it back into your mouth. “Do demons get fevers?”

“It's Satan's.”

“What does he need with it?”

“I like to keep the temp of my potions.” he appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. You were horrified.

“Literal poisons! And you're putting it in my mouth!?!” you squeaked, glaring at Asmo. 

“Well, I washed it off.” he scoffed. “No need to get dramatic, darling.” you glared and closed your eyes wearily. 

“Still, Asmodeus, I would appreciate if you didn't go through my drawers.” Satan came in and sat on the edge of your bed.  
“You do look a bit unwell.” you could hear the frown in his voice.

“I promise I'm fine.” you muttered.

“What's the fuss?” of course Lucifer had to come in. You felt more than heard him walking towards the bed. He had an uncanny ability to make his steps nearly silent. Sometimes you thought he made noise for your benefit.  
“You don't look so good.”

“Are you all done boosting my ego?” you grumbled before coughing heartily into your elbow. They all exchanged a glance. Lucifer's gloved hand smoothed down your forehead. You couldn't help but press into the cool touch. He cupped your cheek.

“Are you unwell, dearest?”

“I just have allergies.” you sniffled as he placed the thermometer under your tongue.

“What are you allergic to, in particular?”

“The bullshit.” you mumbled.

“Mammon makes all of us feel that way.” he smiled and smoothed your hair back, giving your head a little pat. You just scowled again and waited until he took the instrument out of your mouth. He looked serious for a moment.  
“101. I think this calls for you staying home today.”

“Or I could take ibuprofen and cowboy up. Give me like, fifteen minutes. A hot shower and I'll be perfectly fine.”

“Or you could stay here and behave yourself and not give me more of a headache.” he started to herd the others towards the door.

“That's not nearly as much fun.” you coughed lightly. He threw a glance over his shoulder, a mix between exasperated and amused. Which was typically the way he looked at you.

“Rest,” he pointed one finger. The command didn't leave much room for argument, so you slumped down into bed, wriggling your toes. The sheets were at least cool, and the bed was comfortable. You turned on your side and let your eyes drift shut.

It wasn't long until a cacophony of voices roused you.

“She does not require all of you to stay home. I'm sure she'd never get any rest at all with all of you here.”

“Right, and since I'm her first, I think I'd better stay. Leave it to the Great Mammon.”

“Please, you'd likely make her nauseous.” Asmo now, snorting rather unattractively.

“You'd paw her to death!” Levi, accusing.

“And that is precisely why Belphegor will be the one staying with her.” Lucifer's smooth voice.

“I am?” his voice, thick and slow. “How do you know she wants me to stay with her?”

“I'm not giving her a choice.” a sharp knock on the door, then it being cracked open. “Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling?”

“With my fingers.” you blink, feeling catty. “I don't need a baby sitter.”

“I'm afraid you do. I can't trust you not to try and get dressed and come to RAD.”

“Isn't that what I'm meant to do?”

“Hmm,” he smirked at you, pressing his cheek against your, ostensibly to check your temperature. “It would reflect poorly on the exchange program if you were to collapse in the hallways.”

You don't respond, but press against him a little bit, enjoying the cool of his skin. Almost reluctantly, he withdraws, then busies himself with pulling down your blankets. You yelp and pull your legs up.

“What's the big idea?” you croak.

“Belphegor will only watch you in his room. His bed is the perfect place for you to try and recover.”

“For God's sake!” you mutter. He at least has the grace to help you into a fluffy bathrobe and wait for you to shuffle into some slippers. He offers his arm with a small smile, somewhere between charming and mocking. You want to give him a dirty look, instead you slide loop your own arm through. You have to lean against him a bit more than you'd like. You try hard not to show it, knowing that he'd scoop you up to carry you if he gets suspicious.

Belphegor is sitting up in bed, on his DDD. He barely looks up, pointing instead to Beel's bed. Lucifer walks you over, carefully depositing you in and staring. You blush as you take off your slippers and robe, and let him pull the blankets up around you. 

“Here,” he pulls sets out a bottle of ibuprofen and a water bottle. “Try and rest.” he nods to his brother and is gone in an instant.

“Under the weather?” Belphie yawns.

“I guess.” you rasp out, snuggling in. The bed is big, and warm, and soft, and smells faintly of Beelzebub. You like that smell, and wind yourself in it, nearly purring. Belphie cocks his head at your and give you a sweet smile.

“Sleep will make it better.”

“You just want to nap instead of study.” you roll your eyes. He shrugs.

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

Well, he has you there. You tug the blanket nearly to your ears and burrow into Beelzebub's pillow, idly thinking that it is a wonder there aren't crumbs in the bed. You're asleep before you know it.

Your sleep feels hot and restless. You wake up gasping, breathing out of your mouth in an entirely uncomfortable way. You kick away the sheets and sit up, pressing the heels of your hands to your head and trying not to whimper out loud.

“Hey,” a soft, gently voice from the next bed. “What's wrong?”

“I don't feel good.” you choke out. You sip from the water bottle to quench the fire in your throat. He watches you for a second and points to the bottle of medication. You swallow down two of them and try to settle back into bed.

But the bed is uncomfortable now. Every time you lay down, your nose stuffs up and you can't breathe. Your throat aches, and your head is still pounding. You fluff the pillows, punch them back down, and wriggle down. There's an irritated sigh from the bed across from you.

“I'm sorry,” you manage.

“Come here,” he opens his blankets a bit. You crawl in, laying on your side to face him. His sheets are cooler and softer. He presses his forehead to yours and hums thoughtfully. He draws back slightly, and his hand comes to the top of your head.  
“Can't cure the headache. I can make it ease up so you can sleep.”

That sounds fine to you. You let your eyes close as his fingers run from the top of your head down your forehead. At first, the motion is annoying, like a fly walking down your skin. But he presses a little bit harder, and you find your body relaxing down. 

“There!” he moved his hand back. “That's much better.” he nestled next to you with a smile. “Now we can finally get some sleep.”

And sleep takes you down, smooth and easy.


	2. Face to Face With the One I Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub tries his hand at making you feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Beel to spoon feed me. Just putting that out there.

You rise from the depths of sleep when you feel someone lifting you up from the bed. They were gentle, they were careful. There is a soft rumbling in their chest when they speak. It takes a few minutes for you to try and decipher exactly what is being said.

“She's burning up.” Belphegor is saying. “I got her to sleep, and she took some of the medicine, but she's hot and sweating again.”

True enough. Your pajamas are sticking to you. Your skin feels gross. You grimace and drag your eyes open. You're being held in Beelzebub's arms. With a sleepy grumble, you wind your arms around his neck and are rewarded with a squeeze and a comforting rub to your back.

“Well, you go and eat and get your homework assignments. I'll take care of her.”

“Not a baby.” you mumble into his chest. “I don't need someone to take care of me.”

“I can take you to your room?” he offers. 

“No, never mind.” you try and burrow in further. “I'm only staying here so you don't have to go through the trouble of carrying me all the way there. Okay?”

“Thanks,” he give you a broad smile. At least someone plays along. He carries you to the bathroom and starts the shower for you.  
“Lucifer and Satan said that a shower might bring your temp down. Make you feel better, anyway.” he laid out a towel and a bundle of fresh clothes while you blink blurrily at him. He then produces a little hard tablet and put it at the bottom of the shower. The scent of eucalyptus fills the room.  
“Did uh... Did you need help?” he's blushing a cute shade of pink. If you didn't feel so rotten, you'd be willing to tease him about this.

“No!” you squeak quickly. “I can manage.”

He nods with some relief and leaves the room. You step into his shower and inhale the steam. It does feel nice, you think. You're bent over in a coughing fit a few seconds later. You want to cry, for reasons you don't want to think about right now.

You steel your resolve and reach for a washcloth. Beel's body wash is in the shower. It's not unlike the men's body wash back at home, you muse as you squirt a little out and began to wash up. Spicy and clean smells, not too heavily perfumed. You've always liked this smell of him after he showers. 

After the shower, you feel shaky, but not quite so weak. You towel off quickly and reach for the clothes.

Beelzebub had given you one of his own t shirts and athletic shorts. You ponder for a moment if this is because he didn't want to go through your drawers or if it was the quickest thing he could think of. Either thought is nice, and you slip on the shirt and climb into the shorts, knotting them tightly at your waist. 

You rake Belphie's brush through your hair and make your way back to the twins' room. Belphegor is nowhere to be seen, but Beel is carefully setting a tray up next to the bed. There is a steaming bowl of something, a mug of what you hope is tea, and a few slices of toast.

“Look, Satan made you some supper. He said you needed something light on your tummy.” he looked pleased.

“What is it?” you swallow hard.

“Bat wing soup, toast, and some herbal tea. He said it's nothing poison.” you crinkle your nose at the bat wing part and shake your head. You perch at the edge of the bed and nibble at the toast, sip at the tea. The tea is at least warm and feels nice sliding down your throat. The mug feels like comfort in your hands, so you wrap your fingers around it.

Beelzebub has made short work of his dinner, and is now looking from you the bowl, with a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. You scoot the tray towards him and carry on with the tea. Maybe your throat will feel better now.

“You should eat.”

“I'm not hungry.” 

“But... you need the energy.” he is frowning much harder now, cocking his head to the side.

“I really don't think I can handle bat wing soup.”

“Satan strained it. He said you'd only really be able to handle the broth anyway. Here,” he lifts the spoon to your lips.  
“Try some. You'll like it.”

“Bat wings.” you whine. You know you're being irrational, and Beel is quite right. You need the food for strength to fight off whatever it is that's wearing you down. Maybe you'll be better in the morning.

“For me?” he asked sweetly. And how could you ever deny him anything? With a soft groan, you open your mouth and let him slip the spoon in. You swallow it down. The taste is mainly salt with a pinch of something savory, and it isn't unlike chicken soup back home. Maybe a bit more gamey. 

Beel contemplates you for a moment before gingerly taking the tea from your hands. He sweeps you up to settle on his lap. You squeak just a little bit. He gives you a comforting pat and spoons up another taste of the soup.

“I can feed myself.” you try and squirm away. He only gives you a worried look and puts his cheek down next to yours.

“I know you can. It just makes me feel better if I'm able to do this for you.” you want to rub your face against his. You want to burrow into his neck and be cuddled. Instead, you just sigh and open your mouth. He beams and spoons another mouthful of broth for you. You swallow, and have to admit that it doesn't hurt your throat as much as you thought it would.

Between bites, you lean against his chest, exhausted. You let him feed you nearly half a bowl before you shake your head to the rest. He lets you rest your head against him again while he absently inhales the rest of the soup. His fingers come up to play at the back of your head, rubbing away some of the tension there.

“Let me go and get my evening snacks and I'll be back.” he lays you out in his bed. You're happy to wait for him, stretched out in bed. Belphie drifts in and curls in his bed, looking at you with something like concern. 

“Do you feel better?”

“I don't feel worse, so that's good.” you give him a smile. He just nods and pulls the blankets up, dozing off. You try and stifle your cough in your elbows. Beel is back quickly with arms full of snack packets, which he dumps off the side of the bed. He flops down and lifts one arm< letting you worm into his side. 

“Lucifer wanted you to take these.” he holds out two more pills. You take them with a sip from the water bottle and lay your head on his shoulders. He seems content with that, knowing that he still has one free hand to munch on all his snacks.

“I can go back to my room, if you're trying to sleep.” you offer, though you are reluctant.

“I think we'd all be more comfortable if you just stayed in here.”

We? Who is we? You glanced over at the other twin, asleep already. As though he could read your thoughts, he opened one eye and rolled over, flicking his wrist in a dismissive gesture. Clearly it doesn't bother him one way or the other where you sleep.

It's a question that you're not going to bother asking, not right now. It just doesn't matter, you decide. You're happy to settle down when he flicks on the television and selects something mindless. You stretch out, flexing your toes and then burrow into his side.

“Your fever is down.” his fingers that are not covered in potato chips come to press against your forehead and them smooth your hair back.  
“That's good. You just need a good night of sleep.” he declares. “You'll feel much better in the morning.”

You almost purr as you let your arm drape over his waist. He chuckles softly, a pleasant rumble in your ear. You could get used to this, you think, your leg winding around his. He doesn't seem to mind having a snuffling barnacle implanted in his side. 

You've almost fallen asleep when he speaks.

“You smell like me. You used my body wash, didn't you?” he carefully turns then, so you're face to face. He lets his lips brush against your cheek.   
“I like it. I like you smelling like me. I like you wearing my clothes. Makes me feel like I can keep you safe.” 

“It feels nice.” you admit with a yawn.

“But right now, I want you to get better. And that means going to sleep.” he pokes your nose. “So, good night.”

And you fall asleep, wrapped up in his arms. The crunching of his snail snacks don't even wake you.


	3. Closer To Where I Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmo will stay with you today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather is getting colder here. My sinuses hurt. I keep sneezing so I'm afraid to leave the house because someone will think I have the Plague. My little one was two yesterday, and she's angry it's too wet to go play on her swings.

You do not feel better in the morning, much to your dismay. Your feel like you're underwater. The pressure in your ear makes you groan. You sit up slowly, leaving your head tilted to the side so that the fluid might drain.

“Come darling, it's a new day!” Asmo almost sings as he opens the door. He spots you and frowns.  
“You aren't better yet at all.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Nothing to apologize for. Come,” he offers his hand. “Let's go to my room. I know something that will fix you right up.”

“Do you?” your eyes glistened. You were almost tempted to believe him, although somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered if Asmo was just trying to get you to his room. But your fever made it hard to think too hard, so you take his hand and trail behind him.

“I'll just message Lucifer. Let him know you're still just a touch under the weather and that you'll be spending the day with me.”

His bubbly disposition made you smile. There was something comforting about being with him, at least. The way he smelled, so sweet and kind. The way he smiled, so easy and pretty. The way his fingers laced through yours, so soft and smooth. 

“There,” he helped you to his room and deposited you on the bed. He pinched his chin and looked at you thoughtfully.  
“Well, you can't feel better when you aren't looking better, can you?”

“Was that a question I'm supposed to answer?” you blinked. But he didn't seem to hear you, already flitting around the room. In a few moments, his arms were full of material. He dropped the pile next to you and began sifting through it, now and then holding something up to your cheek.  
“Asmodeus, I don't think anyone care if the color of the fabric matches the nasty color of my cheeks.”

“I care. You'll feel better when you look better. And I want you to feel better.” his lips set in a firm line that offered no room for argument. Well, as long as he didn't want you to do anything, you supposed it was fine.  
“Here!” he held up a long white nightie aloft like a flag caught from an enemy. You looked closer and saw the poet sleeves,the little bits of lace trimming the hem and the sleeves. The tiny rosebud just at the neckline.

“It's very pretty.” you smiled. When you were a child, you would have loved wearing something like this. You would have worn it out in the back yard at night while pretending you were a ghost, pining for your dead lover. 

“Good. You deserve to be pretty. Get out of Beel's baggy things now. Hobo is not a good look for you, darling.”

“Asmo,” you look him up and down. “Were you jealous I was wearing his clothes?”

“Of course not!” he scowled. “I just like it when I'm surrounded by things that are beautiful. Especially you.”

Your cheeks warm for reasons other than fever. He grinned, well pleased to see you flustered. You change quickly into the nightie, which is soft and warm. Asmo comes with a cool damp cloth to wipe your face and hands and the back of your neck. You hum at the sensation.

“There, that's better isn't it?” he purred and set the rag aside. “Let me brush your hair for your, darling.”

“No, my head hurts too much.” you grab at your scalp and wince when you feel the mass of knots and snarls. That's what you get for laying in bed all day, naturally. Well, it can't be helped now. You'll just have to do a conditioner, a wet brush, and some patience when you're feel better.

“It hurts because of all the mats tugging at it. Don't be silly now, sit up, darling.” Asmo arranges himself comfortably on the bed and pulls you between his thighs. You leaned into his chest for a moment. Asmo wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in tight.  
“I am sorry you don't feel well, darling.” he whispered into your ear. 

The cuddle lasts for a second until he gets the comb and a bottle of detangler. With a businesslike air, he spritzes down your hair and gets down to work. You have to admit, Asmo is shockingly gentle. He teases out the knots and mats without yanking at your hair. 

He sweeps your hair back into a French braid. He is staisfied with his work when done, and tries to coax you into a picture for Devilgram. You rejected that idea. No one needed to know how crappy you felt. 

“But your eyes are so bright, and you're so pale! It is a beautiful contrast, really. I can see why people thought they looked gorgeous when they had consumption.”

“That's terrible, Asmo.” you coughed.

You laid down, your head near his knees. He reached down to stroke your face, his fingers tracing from the bridge of your nose over your eyebrows and to your ears. You melted into the bed, grateful for the way he was touching you.

“I know what'll fix you right up. I'll be right back!” he scrambled off the bed and hurried into his bathroom. You giggle as much as you can with the ache in your chest from the cough. He hurries back carried some jars and bottles.  
“You need a massage.”

“I do?” you had been thinking more along the lines of one of those cough syrups that tasted like death, but had enough drowsy medicine in them to knock a horse out. Sure, it might be a new week when you woke up, but you're sure you would have kicked this damn cold.

“You do,” he affirmed. He anointed his hands with some oil from a tiny vial and began to rub your face. You gasp and then fell yourself relaxing.  
“This will open up your sinuses.”

His fingers pressed in just the right places. It hurt at first, but then gave you some sensation of relief. You stayed still as he rubbed into your temples with a different oil. Sure enough, you could breathe a bit better. The oil was scented, something exotic and lovely. 

He stroked the oil down your throat, and you titled your chin back to give him better access. You were aware of his finger tips pressing in every so slightly. You knew that he could hurt you, if he wanted. Any one of them had the power to kill you before you could snap your fingers. And yet, none of them had. You knew you'd pushed the boundaries, knew you'd triggered the rage in them. And yet, you were still breathing.

Miracle of miracles.

“Still with me?” Asmo murmured softly, picking up your hands and beginning to massage a thick cream into them.

“Always,” you whisper.

“Good,” he kissed the back of your hand, without any of his usual flirtatiousness. His heart was on his lips when he pressed to the back of your hand. He held your hand to his cheek for a moment and looked at you, an expression brimming with love and worry.  
“I do hate that you're sick.”

“I feel better.” it wasn't a lie. You feel much better than you had when you woke up this morning. Not back to yourself, but better than death. It was mostly do the care that Asmo had given you. He put a warm mug of tea to your lips, helped you take a few sips.

“I'm staying with you all day.” he squirmed back onto the bed, laying next to you, with an arm under your head and the other around your waist.

You roll in his arms until he is pressed against your back. You face the wall and let your eyes close. You aren't asleep, instead somewhere in between that state of awake and asleep. Your hand goes to hold his around your waist. He buries his face in the back of your neck.

“Stay with me.” he repeated. It wasn't a question. It was somewhere between a plea and a demand.

“Always,” you whispered again. Didn't he, or any of them realize, that you'd sooner cleave your heart in two than leave? 

His breathe even out against your neck. And even if you wanted to stay awake, the pressure of his arm on you and the rhythm of his heart eased you to sleep.


	4. Can You Unbreak My Heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satan has an idea for your coughing fits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATE that thing where you lay down and start coughing right away!

The pressure and ache in your chest increases. You sit up to wheeze and hack. Asmo isn't there, the lights have been dimmed. There is a bottle of water, which you sip from. You peel back the sheets and pad out of the room, realizing you've lost your slippers somewhere while playing musical beds. You shivered against the cold floor of the House of Lamentation and carried on, wandering through the halls.

“I was just coming to check on you.” Satan stood behind you. You jumped about a mile as you spun around. Before you could speak, you broke into a coughing fit. You choke your way through it, Satan easily wrapping an arm around you waist to brace you and rubbing his other hand up; and down your back.  
“Inhale, nice and slow. Out, nice and slow. There you go. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that.”

“It's fine.” you wheeze. “I'll just have a heart attack next time and space us both the discomfort.”

“Fair enough.” he gave you a smirk helped you stand upright. “I would appreciate it if you didn't die in the middle of the hallway where we'd have to step over you all the time.”

“I bet you would.”  
“You're up and around. Would you like some supper?” you made a face and shook your head. Satan frowned at your bare feet on the floor. “Where are your slippers? I know you have some, I hate them.” It was true, he did hate your slippers, purple and fluffy with metallic threads in them. He thought they looked like something from a fever dream eating your feet.

Which did lead you to question what sort of dreams Satan had.

“I'm not sure.” you shrug. “I'll be fine, either way.”

“You're wandering the house like some sort of lost soul in that dress.” he sighs. “Come with me.” he holds out a hand, which you are happy to take. You follow him to the kitchen, where he pulls out another bowl of the broth from last night and heats it quickly.  
“You have to try and eat some of this. Please and thank you.” it isn't a request. 

You sigh. In one motion, he lifts you onto a counter in the kitchen and puts the bowl in your lap. You make a stupid face at him, which earns you a smirk. He looks altogether like a cat who got the cream, which is rather fitting for him. 

You lift the spoon to your mouth and eat a bite or two. It was much better when you were being fed by Beel, but you'll do it for Satan. He's washing a few dishes, pretending not to see you. But you see those glances out of the corner of his eye. You eat a bit and put the bowl aside. He comes to stand in front of your legs, boxing you on at the counter, one hand beside either thigh.

“You're full?” you just nod. He wraps his arms around you to lift you down. He lets you snuggle his chest for just a moment before turning to pull you towards his room.  
“I've spent the day thinking of any potion that might help you.”

“I really do not want to try any potions.” you moan. “Please, Satan, not today.” 

“And what I was going to say.” he continued, raising an eyebrow at your little outburst and whiny tone. “Is that I don't know enough about human anatomy to prescribe anything. I'll have to wait until Solomon has a chance to talk to me about it. And he said over text he didn't feel comfortable recommending anything until he had looked you over himself. But Lucifer would rather we handle this ourselves.”

So you were saved, at least for the time being. You'd rather Solomon whip something up for you, at least he understands humans. But, you can see why Lucifer doesn't want to go running to someone else right now. After all, you're certain it's just one of those stubborn colds.

“Still, I will happily brew you some tea and you can stay in here tonight.” he opens the door. “You're free to sleep in your room, if you'd rather.”

You shake your head, content with the idea of being with Satan tonight. You curl into your usual chair, with the book you had been reading. He sits in his seat, opening another dusty book and seeming to ignore the fact that you're there.

But reading makes your head hurt. You set it aside and rub at your eyes, and decide you may as well just drink your tea. But even that is hurting your throat, so you set the mug aside. Satan glances at you and then turns back to his book. 

Laying down wouldn't do, you realized. Not with this pressure in your chest and the way that it was making you cough. You got as comfortable as you could in the chair and tried to close your eyes and nod off.

“That's can't possibly be comfortable.” he voice broke across the room.

“It's better than hacking myself to death.” you mutter.

“I suppose that's true.” he set his book aside and crossed over to you. You spent many quiet nights here in Satan's room. There was something nice about being surrounded by all the books. There was something comforting in knowing that there was so little Satan didn't know. There were nights that you felt anxious. An upcoming test. A sense of dread about someone's planned antics or shenanigans. And you'd come in here, in your slippers and robe, to read. He never minded, even if he he was half asleep over a book himself.

You didn't always read. Sometimes you just sat in your chair with a book in your hand, eyes lazily rolling over the pages. You'd let a sense of calm wash over you, and be pleased in where you were. Satan never cared if you stretched out on his floor, making yourself a space with his extra blankets and some pillows to lay and read.

You didn't usually sleep in here, though.

“I have an idea.” he rose suddenly. “Stay there for awhile.”

Well, that's an easy enough task. You let your book rest in your lap, your head lolling back. He heads into the bathroom, and you hear his shower turn on. Interesting. Maybe he's going to try and give you a steam treatment. 

You must have dozed off, because suddenly he's standing over you, droplets of water from his hair falling like tears onto your cheeks. You cough, turning your face awake as you try and scrabble back to wakefulness.

“You'll get a crick in your neck.”

“Won't be my first time.” you shrug. He's dressed in a worn white tshirt and some gray pajama pants.

“Well, you and your ridiculous nightgown can come with me.” he smirked. You struggle out of the chair, not telling Satan that you're already cramped and aching as you shuffle behind him. He's turned down the bedding, and set up the pillows.

“I can't lay flat.” you shake your head. “I'll go back to my room. Good night.”

“You won't. Just wait.” he laid himself down, making himself comfortable on the mountain of pillows. He then opened up one arm to you. Blushing, you crawled into bed and nestled at his side. Your head was propped up on his chest. 

It was, at least, easier to breathe this way. He let an arm wrap around your shoulders. He was warm and there was something so—so comfortable about laying down with him. He reached over and lifted up a book,

“Want a bedtime story?”

“I can't think of anything I want more.” your hand comes up to rest next to your cheek, as though you're trying to pin him down. He doesn't seem to be in any kind of hurry to get up, at any rate. He hauls you up a little higher on him, so your head in on his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head.

He smells like books, he always smells like books. Like old leather and maybe like dust, like thick pages to be turned in the stillness. Like candle wax. You want to bury your nose in his neck and take in more of it. 

He clears his throat and begins to read, and it seems to be a book of children's fairy tales. Not any that you've heard, of course. You wonder if demons are children. Was Satan a child? You knew he was born from Lucifer's anger, but that didn't answer the question.

You don't ask. Not tonight. Tonight you let his voice wash around you. You don't think you make it through the first story before you are asleep.

You don't see him slip a bookmark in to mark the place. You don't feel him gently adjust you so you're against his chest. You don't see him frowning at the rattling sound when you breathe. You really don't see him pick up his DDD, contemplating defying Lucifer and texting Solomon on his own. His fingers pressing against your back. His face bending down to kiss the very top of your head.

He studied the profile of your face. He took in the swelling of your lips as you parted them, easier for breathing than a stuffed up nose. He let his fingers run down your cheek, warm and hot from fever. You gave a whimper and snuggled closer to him, as though that were possible.

“Don't you understand how angry I will be if anything happens to you?” he whispers into the silence of the room. “You don't want me to be angry at you, do you? No? Thought not. So you'd better hurry up and feel better.”


	5. All I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mammon doesn't have any bright ideas, but he does love you, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Mammon didn't have a grand idea. Mammon just wants cuddles and pets.

“Ya got that presentation, don't'cha?”

“You do, too.” Satan said in a hushed voice. “I can stay with her, Mammon. Don't worry about it.”

“It's my turn anyway. C'mon, let go of my human.” the bravado in Mammon's voice brought a smile to your face. You lifted your head from Satan's chest.

His shirt is a smell of drool and snot, which makes you turn red.

“It's fine, don't worry about it.” he gives you a small smile. “I'll be sure to remember this next time I want you to do something for me.”

“That's why I'll worry.” you hissed out. Your voice was nearly non existent. Mammon frowned, crossing his arms.

“What didja do to her?”

“Nothing! It happens with humans, Mammon. It's probably viral, and it'll take as long as it takes for her to get better.” Satan threw back the covers and headed to his bathroom.  
“Take her and get out of here. Looking at you first thing in the morning is irritating.” 

“Jerk,” Mammon huffed. “Well, up and at 'em, human. Let's head to breakfast.”

You look down at your ridiculous nightgown and shrug, following him on wobbly legs. Your head pounds, and breathing in hurts. You press your palm to your chest and shake your head. It'll pass. Don't be precious, you tell yourself. Get going.

You clutch the banister and head downstairs. You don't remember the last time you felt this bad. You cough violently into your elbow. Mammon glances back at you and freezes.

“I didn't realize you were that sick. Why didn't'cha say?” he grumbled. He took your hand and tugged you down the last of the steps.

The room felt like it was swimming. You grabbed his arm and leaned against his shoulder hard, screwing your eyes shut, willing the dizziness to subside. For once, Mammon didn't have a comment. He just stood still and let you lean on him.

“C'mon, I'll get ya there safely.” he wound an arm around your shoulder and walked you to the breakfast table.

“She looks terrible.” Lucifer put down his coffee cup. “Why is she out of bed?”

“I can speak for myself!”

“You barely have a voice, you obviously can't.” he raised an eyebrow. “Mammon, you ought to have taken her to her bed.”

“And leave her to rot? Look at her! She could go at any second.” you slumped down in the chair. Levi gave you a sympathetic look and offered to pour your juice. You nodded and smiled, taking small drinks, trying to ignore the burn in your throat.

“Precisely why she shouldn't be walking around.” Lucifer crossed his arms and shook his head. He rose and came over to your side. He caught your chin and titled your face to one side then the other. You didn't protect, but were loose and malleable in his hands. That seemed to concern him.  
“You really ought to be in bed.”

“I'm fine.” you shrug. “Could even make it to the Academy today.”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Sure! You're always saying my mouth gets me in trouble. If I can't speak, I can't get in trouble.”

“No, but I can get in trouble if you drop dead in the middle of lecture.” he rubs the back of your neck. 

“Should we get Solomon?” Mammon asked softly. 

“You must think it's serious if you're recommending that.” Lucifer glanced at his brother. “But no. She'll be fine. Won't you, dearest?”

“Sure.”

In truth, you didn't know anymore. Maybe it didn't really matter. He smoothed your hair back from your forehead, let his fingers run down your face to cup your cheeks.

“She needs breakfast.” Mammon headed to the kitchen. “And not scrambled eggs and bacon, either.” you shuddered. They sounded horrific. And not just because you weren't sure what kind of eggs or   
what animal the bacon would be from.

Lucifer sat next to you, holding your hand in his. You were vaguely aware of him checking your pulse. Mammon came back shortly with a bowl of oatmeal. Regular oatmeal, you noted. Not Devildom stuff.

“I thought you might like something you knew.” he blushed, looking away from you as he set the bowl down. “And it's nice and hot, so it might help your throat. Not that I care or anything. I just can't have people saying that I don't know how to take care of my human.” he glared at Lucifer, who rose, holding his hands up as though in surrender.

“Fine, Mammon. You take care of her for the day.” he pointed sharply. “You had better not let anything bad happen to her.”

“As if I would.” Mammon snorted.

To your surprise, he walks you back upstairs, his hand holding your tightly. He laid you down in his bed, with it's expensive sheets and thick blanket. He turned his head from side to side, contemplated you for a second.

“Wait here,”

As if you'd go anywhere. You snuggled down in his bed, pulling the blankets up tight. Mammon reappeared, wearing low slung sleep pants and a black tank top. Wordlessly, he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you tight to him.

“It's killing me to see you this way.” he said softly.

You hummed thoughtfully. Your let your palm press to his cheek. You frowned at the worry in his eyes. Truth be told, you loved Mammon's arrogance. You loved his bravado. You loved how he walked into a room and wanted to take control of it.

“I'll live.” you rasp weakly.

“You'd better.” he warned. He laid his head on your chest. The warmth feels nice, although you can't say much for the pressure. His ear pressed against your heartbeat. You let your fingers card through his white hair. He seemed to melt into you.  
“Stupid human. What did ya get sick for?”

“Wasn't intentional.”

“If ya wanted more time with me, ya coulda just said.”

You laugh, then wince at the pain. Of course Mammon would think that you just wanted more time with him. Like this misery was all just a ploy to get closer to him. He does feel nice all wrapped around you though.

“Stupid human.” he repeated, his voice softened. “Why did you have to go and make all of us like you so much?” he swallowed. “Why did you have to make me like you so much?”

You don't respond. The words aren't really meant for you. Not at this moment. You just let your body relax into his bed. He leaves his head on your chest, pinning you down. It isn't so bad, though. He burrowed into you, making sure the blankets are cocooned neatly around you.

“Are you sure this wasn't just an excuse to get out of your presentation?” you rub his back. He snorts and shakes his head, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Owning you, you think. Making sure anyone who walks in will see his hand there.

“I had thought about it. But... I really am worried about ya.” he almost whispers the last part.

“I'll be fine. Just stay snuggled up with me.” 

“As if you could get me to go now.”


	6. A Shadow You Can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi means well, at any rate.

“Normie germs,” Levi mumbled, as he shook you awake. You groaned and tried to pull the blanket up over your eyes.  
“No, I was kidding. Come on, come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To hell, if you don't pray.” he deadpanned. You tried to laugh but gave into a coughing fit. Your coughs were deep and raw. Levi winced. He moved like he wanted to offer you his hand, but he seemed to think better of it. Not that you could blame him. You didn't even want to touch you right now.  
“You're all sticky and gross. Go wash in Mammon's shower.” he pointed instead.

“Thanks, love you too.” you puckered your lips to blow a kiss. He scowled and gave a fake shudder, but watched you with some concern as you made your way to the bathroom. 

You shucked out of your nightgown and leaned heavily against the wall as the water pounded down around you. You had felt pooly before, but now you just felt wrecked. You coughed weakly, spitting   
out the large mouthful of mucus. Good thing the guys aren't around, you thought. This isn't very attractive. 

You grope your way out of the bathroom, stopping to pant a bit. Levi has left you a little bundle of clothes. A pair of Mammon's shorts and a tank top. You slip them on and come out, heedless of your still dripping hair.

“You're my problem tonight.” Levi grumbled.

“Aren't I lucky?” you muttered. He looked at your sideways and softened a bit. 

“I have a gift for you in my room. I-If you're interested, that is.”

A gift? You perked up a bit, curious about what he'd get you for a gift. You pictured a video game themed box of cold pills and wanted to giggle. That wouldn't be kind, though. Levi had obviously stepped out of his comfort zone to even think of getting you something.

You felt like you were swimming through molasses as you made it to his room. He pointed to one of his beanbag chairs, and you nearly melted. He had set it up with his fluffiest blankets, and his softest pillows. There were bottles of water already there, and a box of tissues.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he was blushing, and you resisted the urge to throw your arms around him.

“Thank you, Levi.” you manage. He smiles them, his light, easy smile. You loved it when he gave you looks like this. 

“Here!” he thrust a large cardboard box at you. You opened it and weren't sure whether or not you should laugh or cry. It was stuffed to the brim with over the counter cold medicines, cough drops, throat sprays, lozenges, menthol rub, and zinc.

“Levi!”

“I—I can get into the human realm version of Akuzon. If I'm very careful. And you weren't getting better. I thought this might help. I wasn't sure which one would help the most, so I just got them all.”

You just beamed at him, hoping your face was showing enough gratitude to let him know how grateful you were. You reached in and pulled out the green, syrupy bottle of the tried and true and measured out a dose right then and there, throwing it back without a thought. 

“Will it help?” he asked hopefully.

“We'll find out!”

You lounged in the beanbag while Levi played a game, hollering into his headset. The ache in your chest had eased a little bit, so you decided to take another dose of the medication. After all, if a little helped, more must be better. You had felt so rotten for so long.

You watched his character on the screen, trying to understand what was happening. There were guns, and more people on the screen. You decided it was beyond you, and took one more dose of the medication, along with a few cough drops for good measure.

“Levi?”

“Hmm?” he turned to you. “Are you okay?”

“Watch an anime with me.”

“You wanna watch an anime with me?” he put his controller down, ripping the headset off. “What kind? I have a bunch!” it was nice to see him so animated and gleeful. He bounced to some shelves, running his finger around the titles. Seeing him so energetic made you feel just a little bit dizzy.

“I don't care. Something colorful. With witches. I think.”

“Okay! How about I Found Out I'm A Magical Girl And Have to Save the World?”

“Sounds like that fits the bill.” you shrugged. He put a disc in and turned up the TV while turning down the lights. He plopped into the beanbag next to you.

“You're gonna love this,” he gushed. “The protagonist finds out that she's a magical girl.”

“And she has to save the world? Do all the titles give away the plot?”

“Just the best ones.”

You don't want to cough, so you take one more dose of medicine. Your head is swimming. The show is playing, with bright music and flashy colors, just like you wanted. The first time the protagonist changes in a swirl of silvery stars and glittery flesh, you giggle. It's like a fever dream, but maybe better than the ones you had been having.

Without a sound, you flop your head into Levi's lap.

“W-what are you doing?” he stammered, hands flying up in the air.

“Sitting with you.” your felt slow and soft, gentle and calm for the first time in days.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Better than I have in almost a week.” you pat his thigh and then leave your hand there, attention on the movie.

“Uh. Okaaaay.” he lets one hand come down to rest on your shoulder. You lean into it, letting him know it's fine. You're quiet for a few minutes, watching the battle on the screen between the girl and a plant that is also a monster, but perhaps has the heart of a person? You lost the plot somewhere here.

“Are you afraid of my normie germs?”

“Nah, not really. If you could get us sick, I think we'd all be half dead right now.”

“Or all dead!” you giggle.

“Sure,” one hand tentatively goes to pet your hair. You sigh at the tough, enjoying the sensation. Your eyes flutter closed, and the theme song of the show plays in the background, starting another episode.  
“I am sorry you're sick.”

“You're making it better.”

“I am!?” he seems pleased to hear that. You pat his thigh again, stretch further out across the bean bags.

“Sure. You got me medicine, and it seems to be helping. You're letting me lay on you. How did you get the stuff, anyway? I didn't think you had anything like that here.”

“We don't.” he shook his head. “I told you, I had to do some fancy computer work to get onto the human realm stuff. We're not really supposed to but uh.. What Diavolo doesn't know what hurt him.” you looked up. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were eager.

“You were willing to get in trouble for me?”

“Sure,” he breathed. “I'd do anything for you. It was worth it, as long as it made you feel better.” 

“That's so sweet,” you sniffle, feeling tears sting your eyes.

“Oh no, no don't cry! I cannot stand that.” he panicked slightly, leaving you to chuckle. You reach up and pat his cheek,then turn back to the show. You have no idea what's going on, but you feel better watching it.

Levi lets you lay in his lap, his fingers tangling with your braid, which has started to come undone. Before too long, the door opens.

“Heeeey Lucifeeeer.” you smile and wave weakly.

“You don't look better, but you're acting like you feel better.” he frowned. “Levi, what have you been doing to her?”

“Nothing!”

“Nothing I didn't want!” you giggle before starting to cough again. “Better take more'a this!” you wave the bottle of cough syrup, which is significantly lighter than you remember. Lucifer frowns and snatches it from you, quick as a wink.  
“Hey!”

“Cough syrup?” he flips the bottle and scans the ingredients. “How much of this did you take?” he asks you slowly. You shrug. 

“It helps the cough.”

“It has enough alcohol in it that I'd think about drinking it.” he muttered. He sighed and set it down, instead grabbing the bottle of menthol rub and a bag of cough drops.  
“I'll take her to my room, for the night.”

“You-you don't have to.” Levi stammered. “We were doing just fine.”

“She's practically drunk, Levi. I don't think I call that fine.”

“I didn't know!”

“I know,” he just looks tired of it. “I'm not blaming you. She took the medicine. I did think at least one of you possessed the skills to read. I over estimated you.”

Levi pouted and you frowned. You shook your head and grabbed his hand.

“You could stay in here with us, Lucifer!”

“No, I could not.” obviously through playing games, he bent down and picked you up. You half expected him to throw you over his shoulder. Instead, you are cradled sweetly against his chest. You stop sulking instantly, enjoying being carried. You wave to Levi and let Lucifer carry you to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever drink too much cough syrup? 
> 
> Don't.
> 
> Also, I had an idea for a bonus chapter for my Carry Me fic but uuuugh, its finished and no one wants to go back to that.


	7. You're So Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer can make it better, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was VERY kindly pointed out to be last time that I didn't add a warning about medications. So here it goes.  
> Do NOT take medications, any medications, OTC or not, improperly. I know we're all here having a good time, but I'm serious. Please consult your PCP or appropriate specialist before taking an OTC. Even OTC medications can have serious side effects if not taken correctly. I don't want anything bad to happen to you!

“I really think it's bad for you to take that much medicine.” he was scolding you as he laid you down in his bed. You nodded and let him lay you amongst his pillow, pull the blankets up around you.  
“Can I trust you not to be too much of a nuisance?” he crossed his arms and glared.

“No,”

“Why do I even bother asking?” he looked longingly at his desk, stuffed in a corner, overflowing with papers. Normally, he preferred to work in his study. You hadn't even known that he did anything in his room.  
“I thought I could watch you and work.”

“You should know better than that.” you blinked.

“Probably,” he agreed with a sigh. He sat on the edge of the bed. He eased his gloves off and touched your forehead. With a small sigh, he pressed his forehead to yours.  
“At least your fever has gone down. The medicine seems to have done something. How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” you said before you could stop yourself. Lucifer looked surprised, pulled his head back to look you in the eyes. “Terrible?”

“My head is going to explode. It hurts to talk or breathe. It feels so hard to breathe. My chest is so heavy. I feel horrible.” it all came spilling out at once.

“You really are unwell, aren't you?” Lucifer murmured. He stood up, undoing his tie and vest, setting them aside. He rolled up his sleeves and put his shoes carefully under a chair.  
“I owe you an apology, dearest. I did think you'd get over it quickly.” he slipped into the bed next to you. But while you were bundled under the covers, he stayed on top. He rolled to his side to face you, propping his head up on his hand.

“I know,” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“And I suppose,” he continued. “That I assumed if there was a problem, I could make you better. We didn't need Solomon or anyone else.” his voice went low.  
“I don't like the thought of anyone else helping you. I don't like the thought of anyone else touching you.”

You hummed as he cupped your cheek, leaning into his hand. He was so warm, and the fever left you feeling chilled. You squirm closer to him, listening to him chuckle as he cuddles you close into his chest. He kisses your hair and eyelids.

“I don't mind. You tried your best.”

“I mind. My best has to be perfect. Particularly when it comes to you, dearest.”

“Because of how important this program is to Diavolo?”

“In part,” he said slowly. “And also because—you don't know how special you are. To Diavolo, yes. To my brothers.” he nearly whispered. “To me. How special you are to me.”

“I'm really not special.” you wanted to burrow into his chest. One finger traced the shape of his nose, the bowing of his lips.

“That's only something that you could say.” he laughed in a low voice. “Sleep, dearest. We'll see how you're feeling in the morning.”

It was a long night. You dozed off, only too wake up wheezing and gasping, coughing for breath. Lucifer seemed to have not slept at all, not even a wrinkle in his shirt. He applied the menthol rub to your neck and chest, ignoring your blush.

But it didn't help. You slept fitfully, waking up to cough. You coughed mouthfuls of thick, yellow mucus. Lucifer held tissues to your lips. You didn't care how unpretty this looked as your fever burned. You whimpered as he fluffed the pillows and coaxed water and tea to your lips.

“Can I have more cough syrup?” you choked at one point.

“No,” he shook his head. “I'm not going to dose you up with more of that.” he sighed. “You might have one of these lozenges.” he offered a cough drop. You sulked and let him place it between your  
cheek and gum.

He sat up, cradling you in his lap. When had he gotten the wet cloth? It didn't matter, it felt amazing against your face and the back of your neck. You leaned the back of your head against his shoulder as another coughing fit made your body shake.

“Spit it out,” Lucifer insisted, holding yet more tissue over your mouth. “It'll make you sick to swallow it.”

You were too weak to try and argue or bat him away, so you neatly spat it out and almost collapsed with exhaustion. He frowned and threw the bundle of disgusting away, rocking you ever so slightly.

“I'm afraid I've run out of ideas, dearest.” he brushed some hair our of your eyes. You could only shrug.

“It's so cold, Lucifer.” you mumble. “Can you raise up the heat?”

“It's really not.” he sighed. He laid you down carefully and went to stoke the fire. “It's your fever. If I could just get it to break, I think you'd feel better.”

“I'd feel better if you came and snuggled me.” you hold out your arms. He laughed a bit and climbed back into bed, sitting pretzel style against the headboard. He settled you back in his lap, plenty of blankets.  
“Sleep, please?”

“Hard to sleep if you can't breathe.” you mumble. He rubbed your back, pressing your forehead to his collarbone.

“Try anyway.” he said softly. “Please.”

You were restless in his arms, whimpering and gasping in your sleep, a deep wheezy cough erupting frequently. He can only whisper to you through it, rubbing your back, wiping your face with the cold wet cloth.

Morning finally comes, and when you come up from sleep which was anything but refreshing, he hasn't slept. There are dark marks under his eyes, and his hair is uncharacteristically messy. He looks exhausted, which makes you frown.

You try to speak, to tell him to lay down. No sound comes out, which makes you feel even more uncomfortable somehow. Instead, you touch his face. He catches you wrist to press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“I'm getting Solomon and Diavolo.”

You only nod wearily, letting him lay you down and cover you up. Keeping your eyes open is hard, so you let them close. It could have been minutes or hours before he comes back, shaking you awake gently.

“I know, you're finally sleeping. I hate to get you up, but I'm sure you don't want everyone else to see you looking so sticky.”

“Can't stand in the shower.” you manage to say.

“I'll help.”

Before you can protest, he has scooped you up and is walking you to the bathroom. The shower is turned on, steamy and hot. He strips you down without hesitation and sits you on the toilet. You'd be blushing if you weren't already hot with fever. To your amazement, he slips out of his own clothes and places them in the laundry.

He's gorgeous, you think to yourself. You're longing to reach out, to let your hands run down his chest and his abdomen, to feel the taut skin there and the muscluature underneath. You want to bite down on his collarbone, taste the sweet and salt of his skin. Does he taste like bonfire smoke? He smells like it, just ever so faintly. You wonder if the taste is there.

You don't get a chance to think of this too much. He carried you into the shower and let you lean against him. The steam felt nice, but you began to cough again. He leaned you down, let you spit the grossness into the drain.

“Isn't that better?” he asked softly, before beginning to wash you down with a bar of plain soap and a washcloth. It's at least a very soft washcloth, and you close your eyes and hum with he rubbed down your back. 

You feel almost in a trance, between the steam and Lucifer's body pressing against yours. This wasn't entirely the way you hoped for this to happen, you mused, but maybe being sick had some perks. He rinsed you off and let you wrap your arms around his neck to towel you off. He slips one around his waist to help you out of the bathroom.

You're sat on his bed while he fetches some sweatpants and a tshirt, threads your feet through and pulls them up. Pulls the shirt down and lets you lay down. He dresses in a hurry himself, probably doesn't want to get caught naked by Diavolo.

You fell asleep before you could think too hard on that one.

The world swam back into wakefulness and you winced at the pain all over your body.

“...pneumonia,” Solomon was finishing in a hushed voice. “You should have called me days ago. Or I should have come myself when she wasn't coming to school.”

“We were managing.” Lucifer's voice was tight, just this side of being respectful. You blinked, squinted in the dim. Lucifer was sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, holding your hand. Diavolo was somewhere by the door, with his arms crossed.

“You look exhausted, Lucifer.” he sighed. “Perhaps she should come with me to my home. Barbatos could look after her. You could rest. The house could settle.”

His grip on you tightened. Over his dead body, he didn't say out loud.

“You're awake.” Solomon brushes the demon aside to look into your face. “You're in sorry shape, aren't you?”

“Way to make a girl feel special.” you whisper. Diavolo has a chuckle at that, coming closer.

“He is right. You do look unwell.”

“Lucifer has taken care of me.” you want to make sure they know. “And the others. Everyone has been wonderful.”

“Pencillin would have been better.” Solomon mutters, ignoring the dark look the Avatar of Pride shoots him.  
“Have you taken any meds?”

Lucifer silently points to the bottle of cough syrup. Solomon examined it as the demon wrapped you in his arms. Diavolo looked over the two of your and raised an eyebrow, although Lucifer didn't comment.

“She needs an expectorant.” Solomon mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “And antibiotics, probably. Let me look her over,” he opened his arms, clearly thinking you were going to be passed around like a party favor. But the grip on you tightened.

“I think you can look her over while she sits with me.” he said coolly.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo said softly, and it was maybe a warning. You weren't sure what about though. But Solomon just sat down near you. He felt your pulse, peeked into your throat. Felt your back with his hand, frowned at your cough.

“I'll send the necessary medications.” he said at least. “She'll be better in a week or so. Keep her quiet. Keep her to bed. Rest and fluids.” he rose and then stopped. Quickly, he pressed a tiny kiss to your cheek.  
“Feel better, sweetheart. You're much prettier when you're not burning with fever.” and he was gone before anyone else could respond.

“Well,” Diavolo uncrossed his arms. “You heard him. You have the week off. Take good care of her.” and the Demon Prince was gone too, hurrying downstairs, always so busy.

“As if they had to tell me.” Lucifer muttered, more to himself. “Settle in, dearest. I'm yours for the week.”

And you have to admit, the prospect pleases you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed.  
> Some potential future fics include;  
> Wearing their hoodies.  
> What happens when they must indulge their respective sins.  
> Having sex for the first time with them.  
> A series of side fics about the Undateables.  
> I had considered a longer one about marrying Lucifer, but I'm not sure. I'm sure that's hashed and rehashed.
> 
> The soundtrack for this fic is as follows:  
> Belphegor: Singing in My Sleep-Semisonic  
> Beelzebub: Like Nobody Else-My Darkest Days  
> Asmodeus: Hanging By A Moment- Lifehouse  
> Satan: Breathe- Through Fire  
> Mammon: All I Need-AWOLNATION  
> Leviathan: Guardian Angel-Abandon All Ships  
> Lucifer- Heaven Tonight-HIM
> 
> See you soon!


End file.
